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He held up his hand to check the flow of words. "I say, Herr Spantz, or Monsieur, perhaps, you are the first man I've met who has volunteered to go into rhapsodies for my benefit. I'd like to have a good long chat with you. What do you say to a mug of that excellent beer over in the Café garden? Business seems to be a little dull. Can't you er lock up?"
As he dropped his hat upon a stool near, the door, his glance again darted from the man to the girl and back again. "The broadsword. And, say, Mr. Spantz, you might assume a different tone in addressing me. I'm a customer, not a beggar." The girl left the window and walked slowly to the rear of the shop, passing through the narrow door, without so much as a glance at King or the old man.
He was in close, earnest conversation with John Tullis and Count Halfont, both of whom seemed to be labouring under intense excitement. Over by the arsenal the little Prince, attended by his Aunt Loraine and Count Vos Engo with two mechanical guardsmen in the background was deep in conversation with Julius Spantz, the master-of-arms.
Now he recalled the fact that her dark eyes had a look of sadness and dejection in their depths, and that her face was peculiarly white and unsmiling. Spantz was eyeing him narrowly. "You do not appear interested in our royal family," he ventured coldly. Truxton hastened to assure him that he was keenly interested.
It was plain that she was not a kindred spirit to these vicious natures. "It is part of his game," said Julius Spantz. "He knows Olga's past; he is waiting for a chance to catch her off her guard. He may even go so far as to make pretty love to you, cousin, in the hope that no offence, my dear, no offence!" Her look had silenced him. "Mr. King is not a spy," she said steadily.
A man with a limp cigarette between his lips was never far from the side of the American a man who had stopped to pass the time of day with William Spantz, and who, from that hour was not to let the young man out of his sight until another relieved him of the task. He went to bed that night, tired and happy.
Not one, but three or four languages were spoken by the excited, intense occupants of the outer room; King could, make nothing of what they said. Finally the sharp, incisive voice of William Spantz broke through the babble, commanding silence. "Still unconscious," he said, when some measure of order was secured. "Yes," grunted one of the men, evidently a newcomer.
I thought Graustark was the home, the genesis of Romance, and I'm more or less like that chap we've read about, who was always in search of adventure. Somehow, Graustark hasn't come up to expectations. Up to date, this is the slowest burg I've ever seen. I'm leaving next Saturday for Vienna." "I see," cackled Spantz, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
King stood in the doorway, looking after her, a puzzled gleam in his eyes. Old Spantz was coming up from the rear, followed by his customer. "Queer," thought the American. "She's changed her tactics rather suddenly. Smiled at me in the beginning and now cries a bit because I'm trying to return the compliment. Well, by the Lord Harry, she shan't scare me off like Hello, Mr. Spantz! Good morning!
The old man looked sharply at him for an instant, and a quick little smile writhed in and out among the mass of wrinkles. Instead of passing directly out of the shop, Spantz stopped a moment to give the girl some suddenly recalled instruction. Truxton King, you may be sure, did not precede the old man into the street.
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